So my wife and I arrived at Logan after a little winter getaway (North, not South), and, as I had predicted, the absolute very first conversation we had was about — as my mother would say, three guesses and the first two don’t count — what else?

Panda Bear and his waistline.

Oh, I had seen the infamous photo with the belly flopping outside the T-shirt, all right. That was nationwide news. No, it wasn’t a particularly good advertisement, either for Pablo Sandoval or the sport he plays. And I can get as defensive about baseball as the next guy.

But I’m guessing he didn’t look very different in the postseason of 2014, when he established a record of 26 base hits. As a famous football coach of our acquaintance would say, Pablo’s weight is what it is.

You know, it’s baseball, and the sport has a history of accommodating itself to men of girth. Perhaps a little historical perspective is necessary.

It’s a more sensitive society these days, but in the old days, if a guy carried a few extra pounds, people didn’t hesitate to affix the “F-word’’ to his name. Thus we had Fatty Fothergill and Fat Freddie Fitzsimmons.

Mr. Fothergill’s mother may very well have addressed him as “Robert,’’ “Bob,’’ or “Bobby,’’ but to the baseball-loving public that followed his exploits with the Tigers, White Sox, and even our beloved Red Sox from 1922-33, he was “Fatty’’ Fothergill, period.

Fatty was listed at 5-10 and 230, and he could swing the bat. He was a .325 lifetime hitter who, as was the norm in his time, seldom whiffed. In fact, the most times he ever K’d was 31, and that was in 592 plate appearances in 1927. Now, it does appear that he was a part-time player in most of his seasons, but .325 is .325.

Fat Freddie Fitzsimmons, a righthanded pitcher, spent his entire 19-year career (1925-43) in Greater New York, first with the Giants and with the Dodgers. He was 217-146, for an exemplary .598 winning percentage. He even went 16-2 in 1940, at age 38.

It is true that pitchers can navigate the extra weight better than most position players. Mickey Lolich wasn’t exactly Slenderella when he won those three games in the 1968 World Series or going 25-14 while tossing (gulp) 376 innings three years later.

I mean, c’mon, we give you Bartolo Colon, 43 in May, F-A-T, and with 218 career wins (only one fewer than fellow Dominican Pedro Martinez). You know what his official listed weight is? 285. At 5-11.

Remember Rick Reuschel? He was a decidedly hefty fellow who lasted 19 years in the bigs, winning 214 games. Underneath the blubber was a much better athlete than one might have thought. He was a good fielder. In addition, he wasn’t a helpless hitter, and if my memory is correct, he was even employed on occasion as a pinch runner.

With a pitcher, what matters is the God-given ability to throw a baseball with sufficient velocity. Arms are mysterious gifts. In this realm, Colon is truly amazing because he basically throws one pitch, a decent fastball he can spot anywhere he likes.

Tubby guys can sometimes do lots of damage at the plate, too. Terry Pendleton was what we used to call “roly poly,’’ and he was the 1991 National League MVP (and 1992 runner-up) for the Braves. He also won three Gold Gloves. We all kept saying, “How does that little fat guy do it?’’ Well, he just did.

Kirby Puckett also came under that umbrella. That would be Hall of Famer Kirby Puckett. And I’ll bet Tony Gwynn ended up 25 or 30 pounds heavier than when he started.

Prince Fielder, anybody? They have him listed at 5-11, 275. Would you take his 2015 slash line of .305/.378/.463 for our guy Pablo in 2016? I would.

The fat-guy standard when I was coming of baseball age was Forrest Harrill “Smoky’’ Burgess, a rotund chap who played for the Cubs, Phillies, Reds, Pirates, and White Sox from 1949 through 1967. A catcher by trade, Smoky was a lefthanded masher supreme. His great fame came as a pinch hitter. He still holds the career pinch-hit RBI record at 146. ’Twas said of Smoky, “You could rouse him at 2 a.m. on Christmas morning and he could deliver a pinch hit.’’

Any discussion of larger-than-usual baseball players must begin and end with the most significant larger-than-life figure in the history of the game. I’m guessing you’ve heard of this guy Ruth.

The Babe Ruth who played for the Red Sox was a perfectly fit lefthanded pitcher and outfielder. But he began to, um, expand as a Yankee, until there was no denying it: He was fat. Athletic, still, but fat. As his stomach grew, his legs remained slender, and one description I always love was this: “He looked like an egg balanced on two straws.’’ Tom Meany wrote that in “Babe Ruth,’’ a book I must have read 20 times as a young lad.

There are always large guys, and being large doesn’t necessarily mean someone is fat. But large guys have to be careful. Mo Vaughn always had a battle keeping his weight in an appropriate realm. But in the end, you have to produce, and last year Pablo didn’t produce.

Yes, it would have been nice had Pablo Sandoval demonstrated a bit more professionalism and really come back in better shape. Yes, I know John Henry threw out that 17 percent body fat reference the other day, as if that was supposed to make us all feel good.

One thing the Red Sox can’t say is that there was any false advertising. They signed Pablo Sandoval knowing there was a whole lot of third baseman underneath that uniform.

Anyway, it gives us something to talk about other than the lost Patriots draft picks.

Bob Ryan’s column appears regularly in the Globe. He can be reached at ryan@globe.com.